


Just a little haircut

by GrapefruitZest



Category: Alex Rider (TV 2020), Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Crack, Hair, M/M, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:27:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28546338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrapefruitZest/pseuds/GrapefruitZest
Summary: Yassen Gregorovich works out religiously for two hours a day ever since his time at Malagosto. Staying fit is the easiest item in a long list of things Yassen does to keep himself alive as one of the world’s most wanted assassins. What he does not know, however, is that the source of his strength is his hair, until one day he finds himself without it...
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Just a little haircut

The drug lord that Yassen has been sent to dispatch lives in a remote area in South America. His house is a fortress in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by forest. It reminds Yassen of the time he and Hunter were sent to dispatch the Commander, many years ago. This target, however, lacks the weaknesses that the Commander had. The house is surrounded by multiple layers of twenty feet high, concrete walls, topped with barbed wire. There is a battalion of guards, and the compound is surrounded by landmines. His schedule has no discernable pattern to it. Scorpia’s analysts have spent hours poring over all the satellite images and blueprints they could find, but there was no weakness, bar one.

Yassen Gregorovich is a young man with dark hair and long, dark eyelashes that cast shadows on his face when the light shines on him at the right angle and brush tantalisingly on his lover’s cheeks when he leans in for a kiss. But what Julia Rothman appreciates the most about him is the way he holds himself with effortless grace and the reason why Yassen finds himself assigned to this particular mission. As for Yassen, he does not have much of a say when it comes to his jobs. Julia can be very convincing like that. He would rather prefer to be a kilometer away from his target with a sniper rifle, but sometimes, needs must and he finds himself being ordered a lot closer.

Now, Yassen walks through the main house in the compound, flanked by guards on four sides. Overhead, ceiling fans hanging at regular intervals beat the air, attempting to make the tropical heat bearable. Yassen, wearing a pair of linen shorts and a short-sleeved polo t-shirt without any of the buttons done, is unfazed by the climate. The guards stop at an unmarked room along the corridor and Yassen stops between them. 

The guard in front of him opens the door. Inside is a bedroom, sparsely furnished. He jerks a thumb towards the room, and Yassen obediently steps inside. 

“Take a shower,” another guard says. “And hair.” The guard makes a shaving motion over his chest with his hand holding an invisible razor and his companions crack sadistic grins.

Yassen nods and shuts the door. In the room is an en-suite bathroom, and Yassen closes that door too and strips off his clothes before stepping into the shower. The water pipes in this section of the house run outside the building, and Yassen is not surprised that the water is slightly warm even though he has the shower turned to its coldest setting. He works the new bar of soap that was waiting for him into a lather all over himself, washing off the dirt and grit that settled on him in the long journey to the compound. 

When Yassen is clean, he finds himself standing in front of the bathroom mirror. There is a basket of disposable razors sitting on the shelf under the sink, and Yassen selects one from the middle of the pile, making sure that the bag it is in is properly sealed and has not been tampered with. The shower has opened up the pores in his skin, which makes the next step easier. Yassen starts with the stubble on his chin, before moving on to the thick bush of dark hair that grows on his chest. He some time here before deciding to select a new razor for working his way through his groin to his legs. The former is particularly sensitive, and Yassen does not want to risk injuring himself with a dull blade. There is hair all over the floor when he is finished, and Yassen uses his feet to sweep it into a pile before dumping it into the bin, cleaning up as best as he can. In another life, he was a servant, and it costs nothing to him now to be polite to the servants who have to clean up his target’s mess, and if things go well, the mess that Yassen will leave behind when he eliminates the target. 

Yassen hardly recognises himself when he is done. This is not something that he has contemplated doing before, and his skin is sensitive in a few places where he nicked himself with the blade. A small part of his mind wonders what Julia Rothman will think when he next meets her; she did always seem to enjoy toying with the short curls of hair that adorn his chest. Perhaps a painful lesson for her to not send him on such missions again? Yassen banishes the thought quickly from his mind. It is not often he finds his mind wandering when he has a job to be done, and he wants to keep a clear head for what lays ahead. 

HIs tasks in the bathroom complete, Yassen dresses in the clothes provided for him - a pair of loose silk pants and nothing else - and settles into the bed to meditate as he waits for his target to summon him to his chambers. 

* * *

It is evening before a guard reappears at Yassen’s door. He doesn’t say anything, merely gestures for Yassen to follow him. The tiled floor feels cool to Yassen’s bare feet as they pass through a long series of corridors and into the other wing of the house. There is a little breeze in the evening, and without a shirt on, Yassen can see that his nipples are erect. The guard eventually stops at a set of double doors where he knocks and steps to the side. 

“Come in,” a voice calls out from inside.

The guard nods at Yassen to enter. Inside, Yassen’s target is sitting on the end of an ornately decorated four poster bed that is centered on a large rug. It looks out of place compared to the minimalist furniture in the rest of the house, but it is what the intelligence has told Yassen to expect. He stands in front of the closed door, his eyes cast demurely downward, waiting for the target to issue his next command. 

The target studies Yassen for a long moment, casting his eyes over his entire body. 

“Well, well, well,” he eventually says, licking his lips slowly. “I have been told to expect quite the prize… You certainly don’t disappoint.”

Yassen does not respond, he stands in silence, letting the target continue to examine him.

“Come here,” the target eventually says, patting a spot on his lap. 

Yassen takes this as his cue to walk forward, except instead of sitting on his lap as requested, he grabs the target’s neck with his right hand and attempts to strangle him. It is a move that Yassen has used to efficient success half a dozen times, except this time he finds the target sliding out of his grip easily and scrabbling for a gun on the nightstand. Yassen shoves his confusion aside and dives towards the nightstand. He hefts the gun and fires three rounds at the target. 

Yassen planned for a stealthy kill and a quiet exit, but the noise from the gunshots means the guards are alerted and he hears a frantic pounding at the locked door. Yassen sprints to the window. It is a ten metre drop to the ground and Yassen doesn’t hesitate, rolling when he lands to absorb the shock of the impact. His alternate plan involved stealing a car and smashing his way through the compound’s gates, and he sprints towards the garage now, trusting that a man who owns seven cars will keep their keys conveniently inside the garage door.

Yassen is relieved when this prediction is proven correct. He selects an orange Maserati, trusting that the speed advantage it gives will outweigh its flashy colours and he slips inside and guns the engine. 

* * *

A week later, Yassen finds himself once again at Malagosto, this time at the medical centre on the island.

“The test results just came back,” the doctor says as she puts a pair of reading glasses on. “This is like nothing we’ve ever seen before. It appears that removing your body hair resulted in the loss of strength that you experienced on your last mission. I’ve put a note in your file to not send you on any missions that require such - uh - detailed grooming...”


End file.
